


the Fox & the Hound war for the Wolf of Winterfell

by GoddessErato48



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Complex Emotions, Creepy, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Talk, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fox - Freeform, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Haunted past, Hound - Freeform, Humor, Littlefinger - Freeform, Love, Love Triangle, Older Man/Younger Woman, Passion, Possible violence, Protectiveness, Running Away, Sex, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Smut, Travel, True Love, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War, little bird, missing eachother, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessErato48/pseuds/GoddessErato48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night falls in Winterfell on a moonless night. </p><p>The Lady Sansa Stark finds she cannot find sleep in her childhood chambers, finds herself too unable to think about the lack of Lord Petyr Baelish and her impeding betrothal to one Ramsey Bolton, a man whose treachery she has yet to discover. After a quiet rap at her window that she doesn't notice, Sandor Clegane hauls himself into her room.</p><p>The Hound expects Sansa to a more than willing participant in her own escape, and rather is met with resistance. Things get very complicated, very quickly.</p><p>Fluff & smut with deep feelings (and even deeper cocks :P) to come in the following chapters!</p><p>MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT [I'm Gonna Be by Sleeping At Last] : https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ6wJqaE6o4</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sun And Stars Always Chase Their Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been going mad waiting for the next episodes of Season Five. Especially, more than anything, in the waiting to find out what will happen to Sansa Stark under Littlefinger's protection, and if The Hound truly dies or not. 
> 
> So I thought, why not give myself an outlet in the form of a continuation from the last available episode onward, as well as bringing into play my dream love-triangle; The Fox and The Hound, both after the same Wolf. (That is, Petyr Baelish, Sandor Clegane, Sansa Stark). This will be my first fanfic ever, and a few chapters in, my first smut.
> 
> Please be gentle with me! I hope, if anyone reads this, that you enjoy my frustrated writings. Oh and I'm open to all of the suggestions/ requests you guys might have!

It still hurt. Even two fortnights after Sandor Clegane had almost died - at the hands of a woman, no less - his healing gut wound would rouse from its dully-aching slumber with a single involuntary contraction of his core, startling The Hound with a pain so sharp that he would need to pause for breath, as he did now. And Sandor was _not_ a man who paused; for breath, or otherwise. He supposed the worst of it was over; for the first few days he hadn't been able to move, much less continue his journey North. He owed his life to the young Vale flea-bottom who'd found him, and hauled him to the house of what The Hound could only assume was the local equivalent of a Maester. He hadn't waited around to find out. As soon as he could walk, shortly after regaining consciousness, he slipped out, chose a horse, and rode.  
  
The imposing man continued walking forward with a great purpose to his stride, blinking away from his thoughts to focus on his plan. A saddlebag thrummed against his sword from where it was slung over his neck, reminding him of it quietly, but consistently. He was no Ser, but he wore the armor and carried the weapons of a knight, albeit by now more worn than he would have liked.  
  
Winterfell's blackened walls, against an even darker sky, were a welcome sight. This leg of his journey was near to its end; and at it awaited Sansa Stark.  
  
Whom, as he liked to tell himself, he was retrieving to protect, yes, but not for any kind of lily-livered reason. She was the key to the North, and as such, one of the most valuable people in all of the seven realms. He would take her, far from here - not at all because he wanted her, and only her, key to the bloody North or not, because for all he cared she could have been key to the bloomin' roses of High Garden and he still would have come. No, that had nothing to do with it. Sandor would keep her safe until the war was over, from which who emerged victorious was something he couldn't give a whore's arse about. They were all losers, if you asked him. When it was all said and done, and the last Stark returned, the people of the North would rally behind her. As her guardian, the North would be Sandor’s as much as it would be Sansa’s - all the better if he could get her to marry him. Because, he deluded himself, it would be a good strategical move.  
  
And, not, that Sansa Stark was the only soul in all seven heavens and hells for which he would rise from his manieth near squeak with Death to ride North day and night for hundreds of miles, all for only the slight chance that he might find her, and if the Gods’ outlook were favorable, touch her.  
  
_Sansa fucking Stark_. The silent curse was halfhearted.  
  
He brought his attention back to where he was placing his feet. Years of sneaking around kept him quiet, even with his weighty armor, but it was always when his mind wandered, that a twig would magically appear in his path. And still, even as he fought it, Sansa Stark's vermillion glow blurred the edges of his vision.

 

∞

  
_A lady should not be up this late_ , Sansa chastised herself.  
  
It was pitch black, as it had been hours earlier when she’d first lain down onto her bed, a bed she’d slept in most nights of her life. Tonight, however, sleep did not come, as it once had. She stared up into the darkness which offered no give to her eyes; starlight filtered in through her windows but highlighted only the edges of her room.  
  
The quiet and darkness both were eerie.  
  
Where it had once been her home, Winterfell felt foreign, cold, and even a little bit frightening. The void where her siblings should have been left hollow ghosts of nothingness wandering the castle walls. Even more so since the only person she trusted - even still, the only person she’d known longer than a day - had gone and left her here.  
  
If she weren’t such a proper young woman she would have cursed. Exactly what she needed; to start thinking of Petyr Baelish. Had sleep not already been a far-off dream (no pun intended), it certainly was now. In the dim of her chambers, she could feel his breath, the Eyrie’s frost on his exhale as she breathed him in. His hands on her neck when he pulled her lips into his. The tickle of his mustache on her skin. The unconcerned look in his eyes when they parted, as if kissing her, right there, right in the middle of the courtyard, were the most natural thing in the world. It had hardly been a few days ago and it felt like forever, still, the memory was vivid.  
  
Restless, her fingers fiddled with her nightgown. _Why did you leave?_ Sansa queried silently. She didn’t pray anymore - no one listened, and if they did, they surely did nothing for her - and if she were still the praying sort, she wouldn’t have even known what to ask for. _Why did you kiss me, why do I want you to kiss me again? Why do I miss you? You left me. Do you love me? Why do I want you to, when the only other woman you’ve loved was my own mother - ?_  
  
_Thump_.  
  
The heavy thud of boot on the ground, then another. Large strides, more thuds, the clink of armor. Breathing that had a familiar loudness to it. A shadow that towered high above her just like she remembered, even from where he stood for a moment by the window.  
  
She could not make out the face through the black, but he didn’t keep her waiting.  
  
The man closed the space in between them to kneel by her bed, eye-level with Sansa now. He cleared his throat before he spoke, “Little bird, are you awake?” He could see her open eyes as well as she could his, of course, but he asked anyway.  
  
Sansa did not know what to think, much less what to say. She could only nod, once, watching the man who’d just climbed into her room with an adequate amount of shock.  
  
There was something else, too. A knot in her tummy; for some inexplicable reason, she wanted to launch herself into his arms.  
  
“I’m so _glad_ -” Sandor stopped himself, physically staining to hold back everything he needed to say; that he missed her, that he didn’t sleep worrying that she wasn’t alive, that he should have just bloody _taken_ her that night of the Blackwater; too many things to say and not enough words. “Good… to see you’re alive, Lady Stark. Have you been hurt?”  
  
“N-no.” The word did not come easily. “Sandor - why - ?”  
  
_Seven hells_. Just his name on her lips was enough to set his every nerve on fire. “I’m here to free you from your cage, little bird.” He offered a crooked smile, broken by the marred side of his face. “You’ll be safe, now.” He hated the worried crease in her eyebrows, and yet the sight of her face awoke him, as if from a long slumber.  
  
“Free me? I don’t understand.” Sansa’s confused eyes held his as she sat upright, sheets sliding off her as she did so.  
  
“Aye, you’re a captive, you're in danger, and I’ve come to take you away.”  
  
She started to shake her head. “No, no, you’ve misunderstood. It’s all very kind of you but I’m afraid I don’t need saving. I’m in no danger. I’m to be married to the new Lord of Winterfell, I’m to be the Lady of my home realm. This is the safest place for me.”  
  
The Hound reached out with both hands, pulling one of hers into them. She was so soft. So small. Taller and better filled out than he remembered, of course, but still so slight. “My Lady, _you’ve_ misunderstood. The only place you’d be less safe than here is in the Queen’s own hands. Lord Baelish has sold you to a Lannister-serving bastard who’s going to rid himself of you as - ”  
  
“Lord Baelish,” Sansa interrupted forcefully, “ _Saved_ me from the Lannisters! Sandor, I don’t know why you’re here, or what you want…”  
  
“I’m here for you, silly girl. To look after you. Do you remember what I said the day of the Blackwater? I’ll not hurt you. I’ll not sell you, like some common whore, to the highest bidder. What I will do, is take you away, far from here where no one can hurt you, and I will protect you with my life and with my sword. I swear it, by the old Gods, and the new.”  
  
Sansa remained quite for a long while, Tully blue eyes searching his. She let out a shuddering breath, and looked down at their hands, asking the only question she had. “Why?”  
  
There wasn’t much he could say to that, not without scaring the poor girl. He reached for her chin, taking a thumb to it and lifting her gaze back to his. “Look into my eyes, little bird. Do you doubt what I’m telling you?”  
  
Silence. Even the breeze halted.  
  
“No.”  
  
Sandor exhaled shakily; she believed him. He continued then, “We should leave now. Gather what we can carry, only what you need. It’s only a matter of time before someone realizes their guards are dead and come looking.” His thumb caressed the side of her face quickly before pulling away.  
  
She didn’t hide her shudder at his touch, but she still didn’t understand. Not _herself_ , certainly, but not him, either. What was so special about her that he’d risk his skin, pledge is sword…? More adequately, what did he want out of this?  
  
Older, wiser Sansa knew now that every action had motivation. What was Sandor’s?  
  
“We’ll take the next boat across the Narrow Sea - wherever you want to go, little bird. And, if you like, when the war’s over, I’ll bring you back.”  
  
“The war is over. Renley is dead. Robb,” Her voice caught, and Sandor winced, “is dead. Jeoffrey is dead. That’s three, dead.”  
  
“Still two left, My Lady, three if you count the Targaryean girl. This war is far from over, and it’s going to get worse, a lot worse, before it ends. I do not wish to be here when it does, and I promise that you do not, either. Start packing.” He rose quickly, still feeling her quiver under his fingers.  
  
Sansa spoke tersely, but not unkindly. “What if… I don’t want to go with you?”  
  
He was frozen for a moment. He had expected this, of course. Why would such a beautiful creature want to be with a kicked old dog, even just for his loyalty? But, Gods, it hurt to hear. “You’d rather stay.” It was a question said as flatly as a statement, sarcasm positively dripping from the sentence. The only wards he had against her were his coldness and cruelty. “Here.” Sandor gestured vaguely. “In the castle your youngest brothers were burnt alive, that your dead siblings should have been the Lords of, to marry a sociopath under the guidance of yet another sociopath…”  
  
“Don’t talk about him like that!”  
  
He sneered, masking his venom - against the man she was defending, not Sansa, never Sansa - just barely. “Who, your precious betrothed? You always were a loyal little bird, I’ll give you that. But you don’t have to be loyal to the wrong people, My Lady.”  
  
Sansa stood with a sharp look and even sharper words, far too sharp for but a girl. “Lord Baelish saved my life, more than once. And for all your words, _you_ were nowhere to be seen when Queen Cersei demanded my head.”  
  
How strange that she brought the very thing that had been killing him inside up. That he hadn’t been there to protect her when she had needed him most. “Lord Baelish very strategically ‘saved’ the key to the North, not you, Sansa Stark.” He said gently, averting his gaze. “I promise you that. And none of this would have happened if you had just come with me that night at Blackwater, girl. I wouldn’t have had to put up with that damned sister of yours, for one -”  
  
“My sister!” She cut him off, and stepped abruptly closer. “My sister - she’s alive?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
The girl’s eyes flared. “Where is she? Why didn’t you bring her?”  
  
Gruffly, “Couldn’t tell you, but if you haven’t heard from her, I’d expect she’d be in Bravos. Now that’s an excellent story. Perhaps for another time, when we’re not so pressed for it.”  
  
“I…” Sansa quieted, sinking back onto the edge of her bed with this revelation.  
  
Sandor awkwardly sat down beside her. After a moment’s hesitation, he put an arm over the girl’s shoulders. He expected he’d never get as close to Sansa Stark as he wanted to, but this was good enough for now. _Gods, she's grown, but she's still so small_. She went very still for a few heartbeats, but then a muffled cry ripped itself from her throat, and she buried her face in his armored chest. The painfully arousing scent of Sansa Stark, of soap and softness, filled his lungs.  
  
“Shh, little bird. I’ll take you to Bravos. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” His fingers found their way to her hair, and stroked it in a soothing, very un-hound-like, manner.  
  
“I can’t leave, Sandor. _I can’t_.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Finding herself comforted in his arms, in the smell of horse and hound and sweat, she didn’t respond for a long while. “I promised Lord Baelish…”  
  
“ _Lord Baelish!_ ” The Hound growled, “You mean the man who swore loyalty to you father and then put a knife to his throat, who’s the very reason Ned Stark is dead, and Robb Stark after him? The man who -” It was his turn to lapse into silence. Things started to click, and he cursed his stupidity - hers, too. “Oh, little bird. You… you love him.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sandor had anticipated everything but this. Seven hells, not this. “The slimiest cunt in all seven kingdoms -” He didn’t want to swear in front of her, but alas the cuss slipped out. “You have to see that he doesn’t love you, Lady Sansa. You _have_ to.”  
  
She gulped. _How could he say that?_ She’d known he was cruel, but how far did his unkindness extend? “Am I so unlovable? Foolish, naive little Sansa…”  
  
“No.” The Gods certainly had a penchant for irony, he’d give them that. He grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her to face him, voice hoarse. “I won’t force you to come with me, but first, tell me, girl, where is your Lord Baelish now?”  
  
Her eyes were uncertain. Why was he questioning when he already knew?  
  
“Exactly. _Not_ here. You know who is? Do you feel him holding you, offering to protect you?”  
  
She did feel him. Strong. Warm, even through the armor. So many times bigger and harder than her that she could not count. “He was summoned by the Queen…” But her reasoning was weak, and she knew it, trailing off.  
  
“If I had your love, Lady Sansa, a summon from the Gods themselves could not rip me from your side.”  
  
Sandor sucked in a breath at the same time as Sansa did, and they both looked away. Her eyes, to her dismay and his too, began to tear. She rubbed furiously at the wetness, so harshly she was hurting herself, and Sandor caught her hand mid wipe.  
  
“Please.” A word that had not left his lips since the day his brother held his face down onto the burning coals.

“Let me protect you where I failed before.”


	2. How Bright Is The Dawn She Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They leave Winterfell, but not all of their problems stay behind...
> 
> MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT [Fire In The Water by Feist] : https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jxRF8JqDaJ0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode Five, come out already for the love of all the Gods!
> 
> -sobs quietly-
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this as much as I am though. Don't worry, the smut is coming soon, in the next chapter or two if all things go as planned... Get ready to cry a little too.
> 
> ~ Erato xx

The newly most beautiful word in the english language - yes - left Sansa’s lips.

He was so dizzy with relief that he barely heard anything after that.

The Lady began to ramble, “I’ve got to get some clothes, before we leave, I can’t go in a nightgown, of course - the guard walks down this way a few times a night, so I’d better be quick, I’ll put some pillows under my sheets, too, when my handmaiden comes in the morning she’ll think that I’m sleeping and leave me be, which should give us some more time -”

Sandor simply nodded to everything.

Still talking, she got up and busied herself, seeming to know well enough where everything was kept to find it all in the half light. Saddlebag in tow, she put away dresses, footwear, small clothes - The Hound’s throat tightened at the sight of those.

“Ser -”

“I’m no Ser, little bird. I’ve said.” He replied automatically.

The lightest of blushes coated her cheeks. “Yes, well, could you possibly look away for a moment?”

He looked up at her then, and realized she was looking to change into more appropriate clothing. “Of course, My Lady.” Sandor stood, hiding the expression on his face, and went to stand by the window.

He had never in his life wanted to turn around more than he did now.

The girl - no, woman, she was a woman now - felt at once awkward and flustered. She was glad to be rid of her clothing, if briefly, and let the cool night air calm her. As she dressed, Sansa watched him from behind. A strong, capable build. What she could see was little more than an outline, but there was comfort in the sight. She did not feel quite as frightened by Winterfell anymore, now that she wasn’t so alone.

“Alright, I’m all ready.” She spoke at a tone barely above a whisper, keeping quiet.

It took great effort to steady his voice. “Very good, My Lady.” He turned, and found her right in front of him. “I’ll take the bag.”

Sansa's sister would have protested, and insisted that she could quite well handle it herself, thank you very much. But Lady Sansa was just that; a lady, a lady grown quite used to the chivalry she’d grown up with. That, and she got the sense Sandor _wanted_ to hold the bag for her.

He took it with a quick nod, then reached around, one arm under her legs and one around her shoulders, to lift her into his embrace.

“Wha -” Quite startled, she began to protest, before realizing Sandor’s intentions.

The man swung his legs over the window sill, so that they were hanging off the ledge, and offered no explanation to his actions. Taking the rope he’d used to climb up with in one hand, and now holding Sansa with only arm - that was how small she was, or perhaps how large he was - Sandor spun.

They faced the wall, with his feet on the stone. Out of reflex, Sansa’s arms flew up to his neck and squeezed. Sandor almost dropped them both.

 _Just the soreness of the wound_ , he told himself. After an intake of breath, and very steadfastly not looking down at the maiden in his arms, Sandor started to let the rope out. It was only a few feet to the ground, and he was releasing the lady onto her feet sooner than he would have preferred.

He would have been much happier if he’d never had to let her go.

Sansa herself was a little out of breath, even though she hadn’t done any of the work. She looked to Sandor, eyes wide. “We’d better get going I suppose, before they notice us out here.”

It was barely lit enough to see the outline of the trees in the forest looming ahead; no one would be able to see them, even if they did somehow find out Lady Stark was gone. He didn’t refute, however. “Aye, Lady Sansa,” Sandor looked at her from the corner of his eye, pulling the rope after them into the saddlebag, and then set off. He did adjust his pace; kept it shorter and slower for her benefit, stalking forward with a little less oomph.

Even so, the woman had to skip to keep up, at a lot faster a pace than she would normally adopt.

It took hardly any time before the sound of chomping and gentle whinnying reached Sansa’s ears. A horse, dappled with brown hues over its white pelt. Excellent; she was already tired and ready to stop walking.

The Hound reached for the horse’s reigns, and gave it a pat on the side. The horse responded with a nicker. “Up you get, little bird.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll walk, until I can find another.” He’d purposely not _brought_ another; a single rider drew far less attention than a rider leading a second horse.

She took another look at the horse, halting in front of it. “It’s huge!”

“I’ll lift you.” He offered, interlacing his hands.

“No, I meant, he could easily take us both, don’t you think?”

It was true, the horse was quite a few hands taller than Sandor himself, and he was not a stout man. “Aye, it could. You don’t mind sharing the mount?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“All right,” Sandor brushed past her, and slung the bag onto the saddle before lifting himself up onto the horse. He couldn’t tell if he was more terribly excited, or worried. Should he have her on the front, or on the back? With Arya, it was simple. She was just a child; it didn’t matter to him. With Sansa, everything mattered.

Tried and proven was the way he went, in the end. “Turn around.” Though her pretty features were scrunched into a look of confusion, Sansa did as she was instructed. She felt strong hands on either side of her rib cage, and then she was lifted off the ground, safely onto the front of the saddle. “Dresses don’t really mix with horses,” Sansa joked, looking down at her legs, slung over onto one side of the horse.

Sandor just grunted. His arms went around either side of her to hold the reigns, and offered her a place to rest her back. “Are you comfortable enough?”

The woman gave a nod, and folded her hands into her lap. He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. With a swift kick to the horse’s underside, they started at a lazy walk. “It’s a long ride to our next stop, Lady Sansa, and I plan on putting as much distance in between us and Winterfell as possible, as soon as possible. You should get some sleep.” Sandor murmured.

Sansa, not for the first time that night, was at a loss. _Right here? On… a horse_? A hand pushed her toward him gently, until she was resting against his chest, with her head under his chin and her back encircled by Sandor’s arm.

“I’ll not let you fall, little bird.”

She believed him, yawned, closed her eyes. Maybe just a few minutes of shut-eye.

Sandor exhaled as normally as he could, and ignored how affected he felt by her, even through his armour, even though they were barely touching, even when she was quiet and unmoving. Her scent was everywhere.

The motion of the horse was already lulling her. But more than that, it was the sense of safety. Of knowing that while she was in his arms, no possible harm could come to her. A deep rooted knowing that the man - quite literally - had her back, that he would protect her as long as she was near. It was something she hadn’t felt since her father’s last embrace.

The riders were just a silhouette in the ebony forest, faceless figures in the ever night, the only sound the thud of their mount’s hooves.

Sansa was asleep within minutes.

 

∞

 

He doubted that there were many things more beautiful than watching the sun rise over ginger locks belonging to Sansa Stark.

The girl was nestled so sweetly, her cheek against his breastplate, making small noises as she slept. Sandor snuck a prolonged glance, tracing the edges of her features with his eyes.

It was the sound of running water that gradually pulled him out of his steady walk East. Water meant they were on the right track; they’d follow it to the sea. A chance to fill up their water reserves, too. The man pulled on the horse’s reigns, and the animal slowed, and halted. This clearing was as good a place as any to take a break.

Not seeking to wake the sleeping maiden, he held her close to him, and slid off their mount as gently as he could. Sansa moaned a little, and clutched at him. _Seven hells, that’s a beautiful sound._ Distractedly, he rummaged for the blanket he’d packed. Triumphant, Sandor pulled it out, shook it, and lay it onto the grass. Somehow, he managed to get Sansa onto it without waking her.

He stood just a few paces away from the babbling brook. Sandor couldn't remember the last time he'd bathed, but it had been many days ago. Now seemed like a perfect time to get clean.

Glancing back, he saw a peaceful - and, painfully beautiful - Sansa, still fast asleep. With a shrug, the former Sworn Shield began undoing the laces that held his armor on, a process that he was getting better at doing without a squire's assistance. He set them aside, ready to put back on. Next was his shirt, his shoes, and his pants, until he was in nothing but his small clothes.

Stirring from her sleep, Sansa blinked open her eyes and was met with the vivid tawny foliage above, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of water. _Where am I?_ She was disorientated, but only until glancing over to her right, where just a few paces away their mount grazed quietly. Her eyes quickly found a very muscular Sandor standing, his back to her, without a stitch of cotton covering him.

She should have looked away. But his form was enrapturing, a forbidden isle her eyes had to explore.

His dorsum was slight tanned and harshly sculpted in a way the Gods themselves would have been jealous of. Muscles, prominent and beautiful. Oh, he was far from the classical "perfect"; his skin was littered with scars, scratches, healing wounds, and even what appeared to be a bite on his shoulder; but to Sansa, he was perfect all the same. Only his butt appeared unmarred. The lady hadn't yet seen a man's naked posterior, but her eyes didn't seek to wander so it must've been adequate.

Sandor gave his hair a ruffle before he stepped forward, and into the brook. To his calves at first, then deeper; soon the water was up to his shoulders. The clear stream was just shallow enough that he could keep his feet on the ground, and his head out of the water.

She couldn't help but keep watching as the man wet his hair, and made the motions of cleaning himself.

The water was icy cold and Sandor didn't want to bathe too long, lest the Lady wake. He was clambering out moments later, water cascading off his imposing stature. At his full height, he was even more magnificent to Sansa. Washboard abs, biceps the size of her head - everything about him screamed powerful.

Her gaze started traveling south, now that Sandor faced her...

"Does something she sees interest the Lady?" The quiet cockiness to his tone was incredibly difficult to muster, what when the woman of his dreams was staring at him with awe and bloody stars in her eyes.

Sansa went the deepest shade of red she'd ever been in her life, and hurriedly turned her head away from his animalistic gaze. "No, Ser." Her voice was strained.

Lord Baelish was right; a realm full of liars and she was the worst of them.

This time, Sandor didn't correct her. He was too lost in a daydream in which he stomped over, flipped her, and fucked her senseless. Right then and there.He shook his head to rid himself of the, albeit gorgeous, image of Sansa screaming his name, and stalked up to their horse in all his nakedness. Angrily - angry, mostly, that he _wouldn't_ be fucking Sansa senseless - he all but ripped a towel out of a saddle bag, and just as irritatedly rubbed himself dry.

Grabbing his small clothes and breeches, Sandor stepped into them. He watched Sansa's turned back; even in a floor length dress her form was enough to rile him up. "Well, since you're up, get yourself a drink of water and we can get going."

Still flushed, Sansa replied tentatively, feeling his eyes on her back. "Already? Aren't we going to eat?"

Eat. Food. All of a sudden, his stomach rumbled. He had been too occupied with an entirely different kind of hunger to notice that he was starved - and that Lady must be feeling peckish, too, by now. Sandor nodded curtly. "Right. Of course. I'll find us some rabbits."

She sat up then, still not looking his way.

He answered her unspoken question. "You can look at me, girl, your eyes won't burn."

Gaze steadfast on her lap, she changed the subject, "Anything I can do to help?"

 _Get on your knees and open your mouth_. The image almost made him choke on his reply - wryly, he thought, choking was something _she_ ought to be doing. "Firewood, kindling. Look around and see if you can't gather any."

"Of course, Ser."

He chuckled quietly.  _Little Bird, if you could hear my thoughts, you'd never call me Ser again..._


	3. Wish I May, Wish I Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE FEELS. SHIT GETS REAL.
> 
> MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT [Heart of Stone by Iko] : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W72rJZHwWQE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you cry? Lemme know. Haha.
> 
> Fluffy smut in next chapter <3

They rode the rest of the way in silence.  
  
True to his word, Sandor caught two rabbits. True to hers, Sansa (attempted) to gather kindling and firewood, which Sandor then had to supplement. Once the rabbits were cooked - Sansa watching awkwardly as he did all the things she couldn't; starting the fire, skinning and skewering the rabbits - they ate, also in silence. Barely any words passed between them all morning.  
  
Soon after, they'd gotten on the horse - Harlequin, as she had begun to refer to him as - and continued East.  
  
Now, night was falling, leaving the sky in twilight pinks and purples.  
  
Sansa was leaning forward as much as possible, so that the only point of contact between them was the occasional brush of his arms against hers. Her body was quite unused to the core strength it took to stay upright and away from him, as well as the strain on her bottom. She shifted often. Partially because she was uncomfortable, but mainly because she was imaging what he had looked like, under his bulky armor. What he might feel like…  
  
"We'll stop for the night," Sandor said suddenly, his voice deep and booming in the calm of the dusk. "See if there's a spot you fancy."  
  
She glanced around; the forest looked all the same to her. There was, however, just to the right of them, a tiny clearing nestled in between five trees, the canopy above it almost completely obscuring the night sky. She pointed.  
  
"Good eye, Lady Sansa. Pine needles over soil make a softer bed than dirt." Sandor nodded approvingly. There was a small patch of grass, too, where their mount could graze.  
  
_How can he tell what the ground is like all the way from here?_ She mused. Still, Sansa shone at his praise.  
  
Before they had come to a complete stop, Sansa was already jumping off. It was a longer drop than she had expected, but she landed on her feet. Not gracefully, and it hurt, but at least she didn't break anything.  
  
Sandor smirked from behind her. "Very eager. Got a little wildling in you?"  
  
"Got a lot of _pee_ in me." She replied quickly, and laughed and her openness. Her bladder was pulsing.  
  
_If it were up to me, you'd have something else entirely in you._ Sandor slipped from the horse's back, and got to work on pulling the saddle and bags off the creatures' back. "Good lad, aren't you," he muttered to the horse, and patted his side quickly. Once his back was bare and the bridle was off, he pulled a rope out of a bag, tied one end loosely around the stallion's neck, and curled the other around a small tree.  
  
Onto the branches of that same tree he hung the horse's gear and their packs. Sandor pulled out the food and water, and then the blankets.  
  
"Can I help?" Sansa slipped out of the shadows, fixing her dress as she went.  
  
"Aye, take these and lay 'em down." He tossed the sheets at her, and she caught them misshapenly. Her bed-making, however, was better. The corners were remarkably straight when she was done.  
  
Sandor watched her with a softer expression than he normally wore. "Sorry that it's not the kind of accommodations or sleeping partner the likes of you deserve."  
  
She chuckled and smiled, pulling her shoes off before sitting down onto the "bed", and drew a blanket over her. "You might be one of the only decent men left in the Seven Kingdoms, Sandor Clegane. And at least we won't be cold."  
  
His face went rigid - first at her praise, and then at imagining her in his arms - but she quickly corrected herself, "Since we have enough blankets."  
  
"Right, the blankets." Just then, a chilly breeze rolled by.  
  
He coughed and cleared his throat. "Hungry, little bird?"  
  
"Famished."  
  
"Good thing we have this, then." He waved the wrapped rabbit, and then tossed it gently toward her. She did not catch.  
  
Opening the bag, "I'm really going to have to get better at that."  
  
"Aye." He turned so she could not see his smile, as he began to undo his armor for the second time that day. Sandor made short work of it, and almost stepped onto the bed -  
  
Sansa spoke quickly, "Shoes off, Sandor!"  
  
He removed his boots, and sat. "And people ask me why I never took a wife."  
  
She glanced at him with a mouthful of rabbit. "Not," Sandor added quickly, "That I meant to insinuate that you were my wife." It hadn't sounded like that at all, but now they both knew where his mind was.  
  
So, they were back to the awkward silence.  
  
By now, the last rays of sunlight were fully gone from the sky, and with it, the heat. Sansa handed over the rabbit and their hands brushed in the dark. She pulled away quickly, took a swig of the offered water, and lay down with her back to him.  
  
"Good night, I suppose." The woman muttered.  
  
Sandor lowered himself down beside her, so close (even at the edge of the blanket) that he could reach out his arm and touch her, if he wanted. "Sleep well, My Lady."  
  
A cold gust of air came by, and Sansa visibly shuddered. "That warmth sure did fade."  
  
He grunted in reply, watching her shiver.  
  
A few minutes went by and she didn't stop. Even her teeth had begun to chatter. Come to think of it, Sandor himself was feeling the chill, and he didn't usually take issue with it.  
  
"Sandor -?" Her voice was so fragile, it sound like it could shatter with the next breeze.  
  
"Aye."  
  
She cleared her throat, awkwardly. "Do you think - do you think you could, um, come closer?"  
  
Sandor swallowed. He didn't reply in the affirmative, just scooted and shuffled until he was a whisper away from touching her. It took all his self control to stop there.  
  
"That's already better." A few moments of silence. She licked her lips, very rigid. ”Do you think you could come a little bit closer still?"  
  
He groaned inwardly; he wanted both nothing more and nothing less. But he did it anyway, closing the tiny gap until she was perfectly curled into his front. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, like he had always know they would, and imagined so often. Unable to help himself, Sandor put an arm over her hip, encircling her torso with it, and pulled her even more into his upper body. He breathed in her scent, his nose in her hair. Even in all his eagerness he made sure not to push his hips into her bottom - Virgin or not, she'd know what that hardness was.  
  
The sigh that left her lips almost broke him. “That’s a lot better.”  
  
“Go to sleep now, girl.” Sandor said stiffly, needing his facade in place in order to keep himself from tearing at her like an animal. Gods, she felt so perfect. Smelt a little more like forest and earth now, but none the less arousing.  
  
His breath on her neck was delightful, as was the warmth seeping through his tight embrace. She shuddered, but this time not from any kind of chill.  
  
There was just a touch of incredulity to his tone, displacing the desire that fought to seep through. “Still cold, little bird?”  
  
“No.”  
  
That in was all the reply he needed to know she felt as good in his arms as he did. She was, after all, a terrible liar. Sansa wasn’t fibbing now.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Her eyes drifted closed, and she was falling into slumber. In her semi-consciousness, she repositioned herself, wiggling even closer into Sandor’s form. Her bum found a very hard object pointing at her. How on earth had a twig gotten in between them? Except it didn’t feel like a twig, so perhaps it was a bigger piece of wood than that. An arm snaked down to grab it and remove it, but just as her fingers brushed the tip, Sandor pulled away very quickly.  
  
Her confusion was paramount, for about five seconds. And then, all of a sudden, she realised what that hard thing had been… She’d never lain with a man before, not even platonically, but the females surrounding Sansa had spoken to her about such things. “Sandor, I’m so sorry, I -”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” He interjected quickly. “Sleep.”  
  
Sandor himself wasn’t going to, of course, with the brush of her fingers on his cock still fresh in his mind, but she should.  
  
She was quite for a little while, and he thought she’d fallen asleep. But Sansa was still wide awake. “Do I arouse you?” The girl asked before she could stop the words coming out of her mouth.  
  
Sandor’s eyes squeezed shut. The innocence in her tone was excruciating. It took him a few seconds to reply. “Yes, Sansa. You - you do. You’re a beautiful young woman.”  
  
“Then why… why haven't you said?”  
  
He exhaled sharply. “I’m not like the knights in your songs, little bird. I don’t know how to say what you need to hear.”  
  
Genuinely, she did not understand. “It’s just, I see men, they take what they want. Why don’t you?”  
  
“I guess I’m finally putting someone else’s best interests before my own.”  
  
“You came for me, not the other way around.” Sansa said, her words barely a whisper. Her hand reached to cover his, where he still held her stomach.  
  
“Aye.”  
  
Slowly, she interlaced their fingers. He responded, and squeezed. “Why?”  
  
Sandor took his time with a reply. His thumb caressed the top of her hand. “You’re not like the other girls, little bird.” A single owl hooted in the distance. “You don’t shy away from me, no matter how much I frighten you. And the Gods know - they know I’ve tried, I’ve tried to scare you away. When you started making me… feel things for you. That night in the halls? I needed you to prove to me that you were like the other girls. But you just looked me in the eyes. You stare right at me like there’s something there, something that’s more than just a kicked dog with a scarred snout. No one’s ever done that before.” He paused. “No one’s ever looked at me without repulsion, not even my own mother.”  
  
Her heart broke into a million pieces for him, and she clutched his hand so tight that it must’ve hurt. “Oh, Sandor.” She hadn’t had any idea. Of course she knew, every time she looked at him, that there had been something hiding, but now she knew what.  
  
Somehow those two words were enough. At least they would have been, for him; Sansa however wasn’t contented. Feeling him behind her, she’d wanted no one more in her life.  
  
“Do you refuse me now?”  
  
To think that he could ever refuse her was laughable. What was she saying? That - no, surely she couldn’t… actually want him? “I’ve come to realize something. You’re far too good for me, Sansa Stark.” He said simply. “I’ll protect you, aye, always. Gods know I want you -” the words slipped out before he could stop them - “but I won’t have you.”  
  
“And what about what _I_ want? Doesn’t that count?”  
  
“What _do_ you want, little bird?”  
  
Silence. _You_. She said inwardly.  
  
“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to be buried to the hilt inside of you, hear you sing,” Was his self-control non-existent when it came to Sansa? The words kept pouring out of his mouth, “Such a beautiful song I know it would be -”  
  
She interrupted him so quietly that even she couldn’t hear herself above his voice. “Then do it.”  
  
Sandor paused, every muscle going completely rigid. “What did you say?”  
  
“I said,” Louder now, more forcefully. She turned to face him, still locked in his embrace, their lips a kiss away. She was brave today. “I said, do it. Bury yourself to the hilt inside of me.”  
  
The man groaned, and closed his eyes tightly. “Don’t say that, Sansa.”  
  
“Why not? Isn’t it what you want to hear?”  
  
“Don’t say it, because I am a man of my word.” His eyes opened, and blazed into hers. “I will bury myself into you, I will hear you sing, and I will not stop until we have both had our fill. Don’t say it if you don’t want it.” Quieter, but just as intense, “If you don’t want me. All of me. For as long as you can take me.”  
  
Her voice was shaky, but she met his fearless gaze. She didn't understand it, but she knew it was true. “I want you. All of you. Always.”


	4. How Sweetly She Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have the sweetest, most beautiful love making imaginable. The tenderness grows, and whispered confessions echo in the night.
> 
> MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT [Turning Page by Sleeping At Last] : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYzM6vSmb1A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intend to try and draw this out, but I was hating myself for it because I just really wanted to see them together at long last so I cut the chase short. I hope everyone's happy with that.
> 
> Also, a little teaser... PETYR BAELISHIOUS TO PREMIER IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! <3

He let out a breath of air he didn’t know he had been holding. “Good. Because I don’t think I can stop myself.” His hand slid up her side, and his fingers, calloused and warm, stroked her cheek.  
  
Sandor cupped her neck, and leaned forward. He closed his eyes and ever so gently lay his lips onto hers. She tasted even better than she smelt; and that was just her lips. The Gods only knew how good her maidenflower would taste, and if he’d even be able to withstand it if it were better than this.  
  
The girl moaned into it, her fingers clutching at his shirtsleeve. If a kiss could do all that…  
  
“Is this your first -?”  
  
She didn’t need him to finish. “Yes.”  
  
“You’ve been betrothed thrice and married once, and somehow I’m lucky enough to be your first everything?” Sandor smiled then. “The Gods must finally be giving me a break.”  
  
She laughed and blushed, always blushed, and it was none the less endearing with each time.  
  
He caught her by surprise when he rolled onto his back and pulled Sansa with him. “Damned fools, but I’m glad they were stupid enough to let you slip away and into my fingers.” Her knees were on either side of him, and she sat on his abdomen.  
  
Her red locks pooled down her back and framed her face. “I’m glad too.” She leaned in herself, then, tummy full of butterflies, to kiss him. She didn’t know anything about anything, but she knew that she wanted to kiss him everywhere her lips could reach, so she did; the stubble of his beard, his strong jawline, the scar on his neck.  
  
Sandor silenced quickly, surprised. He too wanted to roam, and his hands did just that, traveling up her back, tracing the sides of her body, giving her hips a squeeze. It wasn’t enough.  
  
He needed to feel her skin on his.  
  
“May I?” His fingers were positioned at the hem of her dress.  
  
She paused, and then stood. “Let me.”  
  
Sandor’s breath hitched as he watched her. For such a shy girl, she was really taking the reins here, and he was loving every second - her pulling her dress off over her head, dropping it…  
  
He lost his train of thought staring at her stomach. And then her hips. And then her legs.  
  
She took of her small clothes with less of a flourish, feeling all of a sudden very exposed, and her self-consciousness was kicking in. Did he like what he saw? Could she measure up to all the other woman he’d seen? The girl couldn't read his expression in the dark, hardly more than he could see her. And yet, even though truly Sandor could barely make her out, she was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.  
  
Gruffly, he commanded, “Come here.”  
  
She did as she was bid, coming to stand right by him, in all her naked glory. Sandor took to his knees as if in worship, looking up at her. “Take a good look, little bird. The only person you’ll ever see me kneel for is you.” The last word he all but kissed into her belly button.  
  
Instead of south - and Gods, he wanted to go south - he began trailing kisses upward, until he was face to face with her breasts.  
  
Oh how magnificent they were!  
  
Just the right size, palmfuls of perky pink tipped wonders, nipples that practically begged to be adorned and suckled upon.  
  
If he were a King, he’d have made it a crime not too. And he had no intention of breaking his own hypothetical laws. Sandor lowered his lips to first one, then the next, unable to decide which to devote his attention to. In the end he had to compensate by bringing a hand up to tease one while he lavished the other.  
  
Nothing had ever felt at good as Sandor’s lips on her breast. The wiry ends of his facial hair tickled her and aroused her, and Sansa couldn’t keep her moans in.  
  
Her fingers found his hair in her absent state, and tugged. He growled.  
  
Everything felt like it was going far too fast, but she didn’t want it to end, and she didn’t want to stop, not ever. There was a hollowness inside, a hole she never knew needed to be filled, until he’d lain his lips on her and she’d felt whole.  
  
Her cunt was calling to him. He could hear it’s whispers, could feel it dripping before his hands every reached it.  
  
Sandor was right, of course. When his fingers slid over her sex, they were instantly slick.  
  
The girl went at once rigid in his grasp. It felt good, wonderful. But looking down on him, fully clothed, Sansa wanted nothing more than to see what she had missed by the stream.  
  
Maintaining eye contact with him, she pulled Sandor up to stand by the shirt. He was so much taller than her that even when he was bending as best as he could, he could not kiss her. All of a sudden, he grabbed her by the butt-cheeks and hoisted her up to his mouth.  
  
Her squeal of surprise was something he wanted to hear over and over again.  
  
“It’s not fair that I’m the only one unclothed in this chilly night air, don’t you think?” She murmured, gazing into his eyes.  
  
“Aye, My Lady. Quite unjust.”  
  
Her face lit up into the biggest of smiles. “So then, My Lord, you won’t mind if I relieve you of this burdensome clothing?”  
  
Sandor swallowed. “You’re so beautiful.” The compliment came out of no-where, but it was the only thing on his mind. His hand ran through her hair, marveling at it’s luster.  
  
She brushed it off with a giggle, and began working on his shirt. Sansa hadn’t a lot of experience with men’s clothing, but she found it wasn’t much different to helping clothe her little brothers, except for the fact that she very desperately wanted to see Sandor naked, and not her kin.  
  
When it was off, she found herself enraptured. The fabric fell from her hand like an old toy from a small child’s hand in the wake of something newer and much, much better.  
  
“Oh.” She breathed, steadfastly exploring his chest with her Tully-blue eyes.  
  
He had lain with many women, but never one that had savored him like Sansa was doing. Like looking at his scarred body was a pleasure instead of a chore.  
  
As she did so, his palms ran up and down her back, soothingly. Her skin was baby-soft.  
  
Sansa glanced up at him, his expression one of adoration. Then her hands, too, were at work; her fingertips started at his shoulders, so broad. They looked like they could carry the weight of the world; like they would, if she asked Sandor to do so. Down, tracing his collarbone, his pectoral muscles. He felt as rugged as he looked, with the scars and all, but it was a comforting thing. A thing of strength. Slowly, slowly down his stomach, following the trail of hair that lead ever downward.  
  
The man stopped breathing for a few moments at the sight of a naked Sansa on her knees before him, face just in line with his cock, fingers reaching to undo the lacing of his breeches.  
  
After countless times undoing her corsets, it was no challenge to her.  
  
The bigger challenge was steeling her nerves for the first time she’d ever see a man’s member. And not just any man’s - Sandor Clegane’s. There was no time to muse; she had pulled them down, and he had stepped out of them, before she could get too deep into her worries.  
  
She did look up to him, then. He changed his mind; _this_ was surely the most beautiful sight in the world. Sandor gave her what she was looking for; the almost imperceptible nod of his head.  
  
Sansa took it as a go-ahead.  
  
Her gaze went back down, and then she saw his penis for the first time. It was… amazing. Like nothing she’d ever seen before. Hard, and towering high. Girth she couldn’t even imagine entering her. Every part of it emulated the man attached to it; strength, size, robustness, and a broken kind of beauty that was easily overlooked. It leaned toward her lips, and she gave it a kiss.  
  
Velvety softness was something she had not been expecting. Her hand attempted to curl around the base of the shaft, but her fingers did not join around his thickness.  
  
“This is never going to fit inside of me.”  
  
Had she really just said that? From above, Sandor’s chuckle at her naivete proved she had. “Don’t worry, little bird. It will.” Having her so close to his cock was excruciating. Hearing her praise supplemented his desire. The self-restraint he was practicing with Sansa was very trying, pushing himself beyond boundaries he did not know he had the capability to surpass; even serving the greasiest cunt in all of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey fucking Baratheon, and not murdering him in his sleep, had been easier than having Sansa Stark’s lips seconds away from touching his cock and having to wait.  
  
Luckily for them both, she did not hesitate much longer. Sansa pumped her fist up and down the impressive length of Sandor’s penis a few times before experimentally taking his tip into her warm mouth.  
  
He tasted of salt, which surprised her, but not unpleasantly. She made a little “mmm” noise in the back of her throat, working completely on instinct now as she sheathed her teeth with her lips and let him further into her mouth, slowly.  
  
Sandor hand in her hair fought not to push her down until she choked. Instead, he encouraged her verbally, “That’s good, little bird. That’s very, _very_ , good.”  
With his cock a quarter into her mouth, she could only blink up at him. Little did young Sansa know that that was everything Sandor needed to see. Her breasts bouncing up and down along with the bobbing of her head. Her innocent gaze directed upward at him while his manhood disappeared into her sweet little mouth.  
  
Sansa tasted something on her tongue, a new liquid other than her saliva. It was his precum, but of course she knew not. Determinedly, she continued, and ran her fingers down to fondle his balls.  
  
It was all too much; years of imagining her doing this very thing, and all of a sudden his member was in her mouth - Sandor was already close to coming, and he wasn’t going to be doing that anywhere but inside of her tonight. “Sansa,” His voice was hoarse, and in her enthusiasm she did not stop suckling on him, so he tried again, “Sansa, stop.”  
  
She pulled off him completely then, with a loud pop. Their combined juices ran down her chin, and her lips were slick. “Did I do something wrong?” Her hand was still on his cock.  
  
“No, My Lady.” He choked out, so close that it was unbearable to slide back down the mountain of his peak. The sight of her like that was almost enough to pull him over the edge. “You did everything right, too well. I almost came.”  
  
“That’s a good thing,” She said the statement like a question.  
  
He kneeled to her level, hard cock making it difficult to maneuver. “Aye, little bird. But I don’t want to come yet.” Sandor reached out for her, cupping her neck and kissing her, tasting himself in her mouth when his tongue explored it.  
  
She submitted to him so beautifully each time, lying down onto her back and pulling him with her so that their lips never left each other.  
  
“Shall we hear how you sing, my sweet Sansa?” He pulled away to whisper the words into her ear.  
  
The girl shuddered at his breath on her sensitive neck, every cell heightened and calling for it, begging for something she didn’t know she could feel - at least not yet.  
  
He chuckled darkly, muttering the words into her collarbone, “I’ll take that as a yes.”  
  
It was indeed a yes. A deafening silent yell in the affirmative.  
  
So Sandor’s lips found their way to her tummy, and further down from there, to the petite and undemanding alcove of her sex. Lips that were plump but discreet, the same salmon shade of her nipples, the smallest of openings nestled in-between her clit and her anus.  
  
His tongue reached out to flick her sensitive little nub, and her hips bucked sky-high.  
  
If watching her writhe hadn’t struck him speechless, he would have laughed or even said something witty. Instead, his arms snaked under her thighs to grab her by the hips and pull her sharply into his face.  
  
Sansa moaned as his tongue ran the length of her sex, clutching at the blanket on the ground beside her. It was exquisite, like nothing she’d ever felt before - like everything else that night.  
  
All new and titillating and wonderful.  
  
His tongue dipped into her pussy and her eyes flashed open in surprise. She hadn’t known that this was something men did, that women enjoyed, but she counted her blessings to be gifted a firsthand experience.  
  
“So beautiful.” He whispered into kiss he lay on her ivory thigh, his words falling on ears deafened by arousal.  
  
Sandor pulled his arm out from under her, and put his middle finger into his mouth to wet it. Like everything else about him, his hands were large; twice as big as Sansa’s. Slowly, with his tongue back on her clit, he probed her entrance.  
  
When he pushed his entire finger into her, Sansa clenched down, surprised. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, when he found a special spot she cried out, “Sandor -”  
  
“Shh, little bird. You’ll be getting a lot more than this soon, don’t you worry.”  
  
Her slickness had made it easy for his finger to enter her, but even so she was hardly large enough to accommodate it, and even he had his doubts that his member might fit comfortably, if at all. “Oh sweet girl, you’re so tight.”  
  
She whimpered.  
  
Sensing her need for a release she had never had, he upped the pace. Sandor’s finger drew in and out, matching the rhythm of his frantic sucking on her clit.  
  
“Oh!” Sansa squealed, wiggling in his grasp while he held on, steadfast. “Sandor!”  
  
He growled into her secret place, “Come for me, Sansa.”  
  
Absolute stillness for a single moment. Then Sansa’s entire body began to convulse, hips rolling and grinding themselves into Sandor, breasts heaving under her overworked lungs, fingers clutching into her own skin. She orgasmed for the first time in a tidal wave of sensitivity.  
  
The man took the opportunity to take advantage of her dizzying pleasure and pushed his middle finger into her opening, pumping the two in tandem, relentless.  
  
“Yes, Sandor!”  
  
She hit her peak, and crashed with a yelp and then a long whine, and barely enough time to register the second finger inside of her.  
  
He slowed his sucking and fucking, as her breathing too calmed.  
  
Bathed in the barest sliver of moonlight, the cool glow lightening her fair skin, pink nipples extended to the sky and mouth forming an “o” of exhilaration, Sansa Stark was a sight to behold.  
  
Sandor needed to be inside of her.  
  
His throbbing erection reminded him of it, and with a final kiss to her entrance he pulled his fingers out, and covered her body with his. The man’s strong hands came up to her face, brushing away the hair in her eyes. His fingers came up to let lips, and she accepted them, tasting herself. A new flavour she would grow to like very much. Watching her suckle her own juices off his fingers was otherworldly, painfully erotic.  
  
“You’re far too good for me, Sansa Stark.” He said, met with what might have been words of protest if he hadn’t claimed her lips and swallowed them, along with any problem she had ever had, commingling both his and her cum.  
  
It was Sansa who eventually broke it. Even without them there, his kiss and his taste lingered on her tongue.  
  
“Will you…” She trailed off, feeling, after everything, a little awkward about being brazen.  
  
Sandor shook his head with a chuckle. Above her, he eclipsed everything else. “After all that - after you screamed my name while my fingers fucked you, you’re still shy about asking me for what you want?”  
  
The girl went hot at his vulgar words. A warmth started to build between her legs.  
  
“Say it, my sweet, or you’re not getting it.”  
  
Sansa looked up at him crossly. Surely he wouldn’t…  
  
“Not until you beg, little bird. Tell my what you want.” He raised a brow as if to say, ‘Try me.’  
  
She licked her lips. “I want…” Again, she could not finish her sentence.  
  
He planted a peck on her neck, and pulled back. “What do you want? I hope it’s the same thing I want. Because what I want, right now, very much, is to be buried to the hilt inside of you, like you told me to do so smartly… Is that what you want, my sweet?”  
  
Squirming, she attempted again. It was so frustrating, his cock just inches away from her sex. The words caught in her throat.  
  
“Tell me, that you want me to fuck you.” Sandor’s eyes shone with challenge, enunciating each word almost cruelly. He dipped low - watching her closely all the while - letting the head of his cock ever so slightly touch her clit, before pulling away just as quickly. Sansa bucked wildly, and in vain. A beautiful, murderous torture.  
  
“ _Say it!_ ”  
  
“I want you to fuck me!” She said it so loudly that they were both taken aback. But she didn’t stop talking. She gave him exactly what he wanted and it was so much sweeter than he could have ever imagined. “ _Please_ , Sandor - I’m _begging_ you to to enter me -”  
  
With an animalistic growl, and one sharp movement, he was right at her entrance, perfectly positioned.  
  
His eyes bore into hers, halting, and gently he asked, “Are you sure, my little bird? Do you still want to loose your maiden flower to a broken old hound?”  
  
Heart melting, she reached up with her lips, kissing everything she wanted to say into his mouth.  
  
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She pushed herself onto him ever so slightly and got them started, all the while holding eye contact. It was the most searing pleasure she and him both had ever experienced.  
  
His gaze was full of concern. “Does it hurt, my sweet?” If he caused her any kind of pain it would kill him, as surely as her pleasure was his immortality.  
  
Her mouth opened to let out a moan, and as he slid into her it was all the assurance he needed.  
  
Only when he was in balls deep did he pause to savour the moment. “You feel like the sheathe my cock has always belonged in, little bird.”  
  
She smiled. “When do we get to the part where you fuck me?”  
  
His expression changed very rapidly, darkening. With one smooth motion, he pulled out to his tip, and thrust back into her with such velocity that her breasts jumped.  
  
“You won’t be able to walk, for a week after I’m done with you.” Sandor growled.  
  
“I hope -” His cock brushed that spot again, and her breath hitched, “That you intend on not being done with me for a long while yet.”  
  
“You’re right about that, my sweet… I won’t be done with you ever.”  
  
He accentuated his point with a grind, alternating in between thrusts with everything in his repertoire. He groaned. “I’m not going to last long, Sansa. Especially not if you clench your cunt around me like that.”  
  
Innocently, she contracted. “What, like this?”  
  
“You’re the devil dressed as an angel.” He grunted, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the pleasure she gave him.  
  
All of a sudden, he lurched forward and curl his arms onto either side of her and give himself leverage to go deeper and harder - which is exactly what he did. A hand reached down to play with her clit, feeling a familiar tightness in his balls that let him know he was very near.  
  
“Oh!” Out of instinct, her legs wrapped around Sandor’s hips, pulling him ever deeper.  
  
“Little bird -” he managed, watching her unraveling in a haze of his own nearing climax, “I’m going to cum inside of you.”  
  
“Yes!” She all but yelled, fingernails digging into her back. “Come inside of me.”  
  
Sandor groaned and bit his lip. “I want you to come with me. Come on my cock, baby. There’s a - _ugh_ \- there’s a good girl, just like that…”  
  
She moved her hips in circular motions, meeting him thrust for thrust, climbing higher and higher with him until all of a sudden, she broke apart in his arms. Sansa convulsed and clenched, and that was Sandor’s own undoing. He came into her with a shudder, but didn’t stop pumping into her, riding her waves like an expert seaman in a hurricane of passion. He didn’t even mind her clawing at him, though there were sure to be marks later.  
  
Her noises subsided and quieted. Her pussy still clamped down on his cock, an aftereffect of her orgasm. They were both very still for a few moments, staring into one another’s eyes.  
  
“I think I love you, Sandor.” She whispered finally.  
  
“I’ve always loved you, little bird.”  
  
He leaned down and kissed her forehead with the gentleness of a lover and the protectiveness of a  sworn shield all rolled into one Sandor Clegane. The seconds passed, and he moved to pull out of her, but a hand on his arm stopped him.  
  
“No.” Sansa said, drawing him back, his softening cock further inside of her. “Stay inside of me. Stay right here.”  
  
“Aye, little bird. I’ll stay with you always.”  
  
The whispered promise carried them into the sleep of tomorrow, two bodies intertwined as one for as long as they could be.  
  
He would stay, and so would she.  
  
Always.


	5. Whispers On The Wings Of A Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Baelishious makes his cameo. Also, more smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor dear Sansa... since my last chapter [SPOILER] she's been raped by that fucking worm Ramsey on GOT. Like she doesn't have enough problems. I hope she kills him in his sleep.
> 
> Oh and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it took so long!
> 
> MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT [Earth by Sleeping At Last] : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGWtF1AttTw

Petyr was very still for a few moments.

Heartbeats across the city of Kingslanding could have been stilled in the calm of it.

Then he crumpled the paper, in an act of passion rarely seen from him, and hurdled it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud - beautiful contrast to the roaring storm of anger swirling around within him - and fell gently to the floor. He grit his teeth.

How could this be? Everything inside of him was in turmoil. How could she be gone?

It was a few moments of heavy breathing before he finally managed to regain control of himself. His jaw slackened, his chest quieted. Think. That's what he needed to do, not shoot the messenger - incidentally, in this case, a raven of Winterfell. Though, the idea of snapping something’s neck was very appealing in that moment, it was something he would not allow himself to do.

Petyr Baelish was nothing if not a man of logic.

Still, almost every time he even thought of Sansa, years of a careful, precise, calculated facade flew out the window. Much like the aforementioned raven.

Why she had this effect on him, he still did not know.

Actually, that was a lie. He did know. He just didn't want to admit it. A pawn was all he told himself she was, the Key to the North. In reality, it was he who was the pawn; a pawn to his own feelings and desires for her.

The kiss in the courtyard still played on his lips whenever he was at his weakest.

It did now.

Petyr stroked his chin, looking out of his open balcony to see Kingslanding, consuming the space of the land, bustling all around. Noises from daily life filtered up to his ears, and helped him zone out. 

Think. He told himself. How do I get her back?

~

Eyes flickered open.

Sansa was lost in a world of dreams in the waking world, until she stretched and felt flesh under her cheek, and her leg curled over someone else's. After adjusting to the brightness of late dawn, she glanced upward to see Sandor looking down at her.

"Good morning, little bird." He said, eyes adoringly tracing her features. How was it possible to look so beautiful with tousled hair and sleepy eyes?

She smiled then, and relaxed back into his touch.

Her hand was slung over his broad chest, and she was cuddled into the crook of his arm, with his hand encircling her back. "Good morning," She murmured onto his skin, voice heavy with sleep. His fingers began to lazily stroke the small of her back.

Sandor strained his neck to plant a kiss atop her head. "With you in my arms, it certainly is."

Her grin widened. She could not remember the last time she had woken like this... Happy. Safe. Unworried about the day to come.

Sansa gave a noise of agreement in her throat.

It was a few moments before she spoke, quietly murmuring his name into his chest. "Sandor?"

"Mm, little bird."

"You know... What you said, um, last night..." She blushed deeply.

Sandor gave her butt a little tap, then grabbed a cheek in his palm, a throaty laugh bubbling up. "I said a great many things last night, Sansa. That you're beautiful. That you're far too good for me. That I love you anyway."

She turned onto her stomach to look him in the eyes. "That's just it. You said that you've always loved me."

"Aye."

"Well, just how long for?"

Not unkindly, "How long have the stars been in the sky?" 

Why was he teasing her? "I'm serious!" She slapped his chest playfully.

"I can't really pinpoint a moment, Sansa... It's not like that. I didn't want to love you, you know. Of course love is not a thing one can tame, control - I tried, believe me. I fell in love, little by little, with everything you did, no matter how hard I fought it." The man stroked her cheek, gently as he spoke. "When you tried to kill Joffrey, when you didn't, I fell in love with your strength. When you took my cloak after Meryn beat you, and stood -" he choked a little on the words, memories of that horrible day coming back. Feeling so powerless to help her... "- I fell in love with your strength again. God, I wish I had killed the cunt myself."

They were quiet again. He shouldn't have sworn. "Sorry for cussing, Sansa. You're too pure to be tainted by my words."

"You tainted me quite a bit last night. I think I'm beyond protecting." She aimed for a light tone, but his gaze was still deep set and unhappy.

"Not as long as I'm alive, you're not."

A chorus of birds erupted very suddenly. Sandor thumbed the small of her back as he spoke. "You have this strength, a quiet kind of strength, little bird, the kind that gets easily overlooked, but the strongest all the same. A true strength not to turn bitter, to hold your tongue, to be smart and stay quiet when it is the wisest thing to. I think when I realised that, although no one else knew it, you were stronger than anyone else, even me, was when I realised I was in love with you. It wasn't a matter of falling in love - it was a matter of finally noticing, and accepting that I already had."

The girl said nothing in his arms. He listened to her breathing, searched her eyes. "Does my reply answer my lady's question?"

She climbed on top of Sandor then, covers sliding off of her as she did so wordlessly. Her legs, on either side of him, situated her butt just above his already hard manhood, with her wetness on his skin, her juices seeping onto his lower abdomen.

He scarcely breathed, taking her in.

With light permitting him to see her fully now, she was even more beautiful.

"Yes."

Very slowly and carefully, Sansa dipped down and lay her kiss onto his lips. His hands snaked up her thighs to hold her backside, kneading the supple flesh. She moaned onto his mouth.

Out of nowhere, Sansa pulled back, expression aghast.

"What, what is it? Sansa?"

Her hands flew to her belly. "Yesterday - Sandor, you... You came inside of me yesterday.” She said it like it was a revelation, like she had been so lost in the throes of their passion that she hadn’t even noticed.

“Aye?"

"You came, inside of me! That's -" she was shaking her head now, and her eyes were wild, "I - that's how children are made, what if I -"

He reassured her quickly, touching her shoulder. "Shh, Sansa, there’s no cause for alarm."

"How do you know?"

He sat up and held her, soothing, "The moon, little bird. It's dark. Your blood will come in the next few nights - women cannot conceive so close to their moon."

Her exhale came upon realising he was right. She relaxed.

"You don't think that I would be so stupid to come inside of you and have you carry my child without the expressed intention for - without even talking about it?" The man was angry now; his integrity, where it lacked elsewhere, was at it’s strongest when it came to women - Sansa in particular - and it was something he did not like questioned. "I am a dog, but I am not a beast - I am not that kind of man, taking and -"

She silenced him with a ferocious kiss, with such force that he fell back onto his back, and she came down with him.

"I know, I'm sorry." She whispered into his ear.

Quietly, ”Would it be so terrible to have a child with me, Sansa?"

His tone was so quiet and broken that she kissed him, his neck and his jaw, kissing away his worries. "Of course not, Sandor, of course not... but now is certainly not the time for me to have a bastard."

The word - bastard - stung. He didn't reply.

"That's not how I meant it, my love."

"You're never called me that before. Your love."

"Don't you like it?"

"No." His lips crashed into hers, words throaty. "No, I love it."

Sansa smiled, stroking a hand through his hair. "Good. You're going to be hearing it a lot, so you'd better get used to it."

He flipped her onto her back, kissing his way down to her belly. He paused there, caressing the place a child might be one day - his child, even - and looked up at her. "I want you to carry my children, Sansa. It doesn't have to be now, but I want it to be soon. We'll make a life for ourselves, find your sister, we'll get married, live quietly in Braavos and raise a family until the war is over - then I'll bring you and our children back to Westeros, and you shall rule the North, I swear it."

"Married?"

He regarded her carefully, suddenly terrified. "You don't - don't you want to marry?"

She leapt forward and hugged him, her slight weight not enough to bawl him over, her enthusiasm almost doing the trick. "Yes. Yes, Sandor, I will marry you and I will give birth to our children and we will rule the North."

"It sounds so much better from your lips. Everything does." They shared a long glance.

"What do you say," Sansa moved a little away from him, "We, you know, get to practicing. We'll need to have baby making down to a fine art when the time comes." She got onto her hands and knees, and waggled her butt in his face.

“Such a tempting offer. I don’t see how I can decline.” His comeback was ready, but it wasn't hard to hear the strain in his voice.

Sandor wasted no time. There was something beautiful in the way - even as he was rough with her, knocking her onto her back - that he made sure no harm came to her, that he cradled her head and controlled his strength just enough for him to dominate but not hurt. In just moments, he was burying his face in her folds, his hands coming down to her hips.

It earned him a shallow moan from his lady, crumpling onto her hands at his first touch.

He ate her like the finest delicacy, the most rare of treasures. It was hard to ignore the throbbing of his manhood, helplessly turned on by the taste of her delicate flower.

All it took was for him to slip a finger into her, and she was already coming.

Sansa spasmed once, twice, rolling waves of ecstasy. He didn’t stop; she was seeing stars, her eyes rolling back into her head, her body writhing, pushing back onto his face. Her fingers clutched helplessly and the sheet below her. Coming again. And again. “Sandor -” She moaned, so loud that the birds startled, and then let out a long low whine, bucking again. 

She couldn’t count the amount of times she reached her peak by the time he finally slowed his pace. The man began kissing the insides of her thighs, muttering, “Absolute perfection, My Lady…”

Exhausted, Sansa rolled onto her side. Her chest heaved, her heart hammering away.

The look of pure rapture on her lover’s face had her excited once more. “Sandor.”

“Aye.”

Blinking innocently, she spread her legs. “Might I have you inside of me?”

He groaned loudly and reached for the back of her head. Grabbing a handful of hair at the base of her neck, he used it to pull Sansa to her knees.

It hurt, but at the same time… It was exquisite. Her nipples stood to attention, the atmosphere electric.

“Turn that beautiful arse of yours toward me.”

He watched her keenly as she moved back into the position she had offered herself in earlier, casting a lustful glance at him before turning fully.

“Absolute perfection,” He said again, casting his gaze over her ivory skin; her petite cheeks, her little waist. 

Taking his cock in hand, stiff already, he positioned it at her entrance, slick from his earlier actions and her arousal both. Rubbing the tip of it up and down, touching her clit and her neat little arsehole, it was just as surely torturous for him as it was for her.

Quietly, “Please.”

This time, he didn’t make her beg. He was ready enough to do that himself.

Gently, inch by inch, he slid in, guessing she was still sore from the night before. “Mmm.” He couldn’t hold in the murmur, finding it incredibly difficult to pace himself so.

Beneath him, Sansa arched her back in pleasure, her pussy clamping down of his shaft.

They groaned in unison.

Sandor began to pick up the pace, going in deeper, and then drawing out to give her a few shallow thrusts, just where her sweet spot was. A swift smack to first one, than the other, butt-cheek. She ground back onto his cock, shuddering.

The shudder did it for him. He needed to fuck her, badly.

His arm snaked around her belly, and the other around her throat, giving him more leverage. Leaning in toward her ear, he whispered, “Little bird, I’m going to pound into you like a mad dog does to a bitch in heat. I want you to scream, and come, over, and over again. Can you do that for me?”

Feebly, she mumbled, “Yes… Please…”

After planting a kiss on shoulder, he fulfilled his promise, thrusting into her - heavy, deep, and fast. In other words, bliss for the both of them.

Her breasts bounced from the velocity of her rough and thorough fucking, her heart pounding along with them. Sandor sunk his teeth, none to gently, into her neck, holding the skin there. Well and truly claiming her, like a hound. His thumb stroked her bottom lip, and the girl sucked it into her mouth.

She let out a high pitched squeal, climbing to her peak.

His hand snaking up to her breast and tweaking her nipple in tandem with his thrusts sent her over the edge. Only instead of falling… she flew. High and far.

“Oohh - Sandor!” The girl spasmed not just once, the pleasure taking her breath away.

Rocking her hips in a circle, feeling her lover’s balls slap against her clit - she was gone again. Her clench onto his cock pulled Sandor with her, shuddering his climax into her cunt.

“Fuck, Sansa.” He swore, breath ragged. The man’s hand moved from her throat to grab a fistful of her locks and snap her head back to a place he could easily kiss his savage love into her skin.

Sandor continued moving, slowly, while his seed was milked out by her spasming walls.

Groaning, and still shivering with sensitivity, Sansa lowered onto her chest. His slow thrusts fostered an electric tingling, all throughout her nether regions, and she jumped as he leaned forward to kiss a trail down her spine.

He pulled out gingerly, a feeling so sweet it caused his lady to come yet again and drop onto her side.

The knight lay down next to her, to hold her through her orgasm and laying gentle kisses onto her shoulder. Finally spent, Sansa let out a long exhale and intertwined their hands. After a few minutes, holding each other gently, their breathing quieted.

It was Sandor who finally broke the silence.

“My sweet-”

Groaning, she interrupted, “No… Don’t say it, I know what you’re going to say…”

“We should be leaving.”

“I told you not to say it!” Sansa had never sounded less like a lady and more like a child that she did now. He chuckled; it was an endearing, and, he felt, rarely seen side of her.

Sandor bit her neck gently, whispering into her ear, “I know, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay here forever.”

Running his gaze over her beautiful, svelte form, dappled with sunlight, he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. “Sansa, I wouldn’t move us an inch from here right now if I didn’t need to.”

She spoke a little softer, more serious. “I’m scared to let this moment… end.”

“My love,” he could hear the sadness in her voice and it pained him. Sandor turned the woman to face him. “The moment will never end. We will always have this moment, and we will always have each other. I promise.” He planted a kiss on her forehead, and she accepted it with a long outward breath, a small smile.

“I love you.”

His new favorite moment. Her cerulean eyes staring into his, declaring her affections for him - while naked, of course. That was a plus. “I love you too, Sansa Stark.”

“I love you more, Sandor Clegane.”

His grin couldn't have been wider, nor cheekier. “I love you most. And that’s a battle you’ll never win.”


End file.
